Late Night Summoning
by PenguinxHero
Summary: All Lydia wants to do is sleep, but there is little hope of that while her wife, Vigdis, insists on completing her "extremely-important" experiments. Lydia x F!Dragonborn/Dovahkiin


**Inspired by the bug that allows one to level Conjuration by first killing the enemy, and then repeatedly casting Soul Trap on the body.**

**No real wolves were harmed in the making of this story; I can't say the same for their pixelated brethren :P**

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><p><strong>~Late Night Summoning~<strong>

_Pop. Hiiiissss…_ Then, a soft light filled the tent.

A sigh issued out. She adopted a stern tone. "Vigdis…"

The sound of a quill scratching urgently over vellum did not cease for a moment. "I just had a thought, Lyddy. I'll put it out in a moment."

"It's never just a moment with you," Lydia grumbled, pulling the furs over her head.

Lydia could tell by Vigdis' next utterance that her comment had not registered. "You know, if you would just let me cast Courage on you every once in a while, I would be able to hone my skills in the Illusion school to the point that I could cast spells quietly. Imagine the benefits that would have in battle!"

"No," Lydia said forcefully, though it was muffled by the cover. "I told you: 'A true Nord doesn't need magical aid.' But she does need sleep – so, _out._"

It didn't come as a whine, but rather a matter-of-fact statement: "I can't. It's snowing out there."

As the tent flap slapped closed behind her and the blizzardy wind cut like knives into her face, Vigdis found out that Lydia didn't find the concept as impossible as she did. Lydia hadn't even allowed her to gather her materials to take them with her.

She frowned at the barrier between her and her cranky wife, the Candlelight she had recently cast hovering in place over her shoulder like a companion – her _only_ companion currently. "I'm a true Nord. My pedigree, my physiology, and the manner in which I wield a battle-axe sufficiently prove that to be fact."

Lydia's exasperated remark carried to her through the tent wall: "It doesn't count if your battle-axe is summoned. True Nords trust in steel."

Vigdis crossed her arms and stomped her foot; though, the effect was ruined by her shivering and the fact that Lydia couldn't actually witness it. "It kills just the same! Ask the dragons that I slayed by hacking my Bound Battle-axe into their gullet. Oh, that's right; you can't. _I devoured their souls_."

No response was forthcoming.

Vigdis muttered to herself as she pulled her robes tight around herself and hunkered down behind a nearby boulder. "One of these days, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll _Fus Ro Dah_ that stupid tent off a mountain. _Then_ we'll see if she gets any sleep."

The Candlelight winked out, and Vigdis was well and truly alone.

…

In the morning, Lydia exited the tent to find that the storm had broken. A deep layer of snow coated everything – including their fire pit, which had certainly not been used during the night. She frowned and tried to ignore the unease growing within. Vigdis was nowhere in sight.

But she could hear the crackling of a fire.

As she rounded the corner, the corpses of a pack of wolves littering the snow-encrusted ground several metres away came to her attention. Nearest to her, a tricoloured beast was half-consumed by the drift, its final snarl captured on its maw by the rigour of death, and the fur around its face was singed by the spell that had sealed its fate. Lydia shook her head and moved on from the scene. She held no pity for the beasts; in life, they had felt nothing but ravenous hunger for her kind. If their positions were reversed, the wolves would be scavenging the frozen flesh from her bones.

Old indents of footprints, obscured by the flurries of snow, led away from the massacre. Her ears told her that they headed toward the direction of the crackling sound.

Indeed, as she approached the glacial cavern, the Flame Atronach guarding the entrance swooped into her path. The daedra summoned flames to its hands, the edges of its form flaring with blistering heat. Lydia put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow.

She called into the cave, "I see you found company for the night."

The answer echoed: "Did you expect me to freeze… freeze… _freeze_…?"

"I expect there's a far distance between freezing and the type of heat you provide," Lydia said to the Atronach, keeping her voice low enough that Vigdis would not hear her. The Atronach appeared to smile at this and twirled in the air, winding its distinctly feminine form in a suggestive manner.

"Show-off," Lydia muttered, bringing her war-axe crashing down in the center of the daedra's chest. Her shield protected her from the blast of flames triggered by the being's death throes (here, Vigdis would correct her by telling her that daedra could only be banished, not slain). Then, Lydia stooped to collect some of the Fire Salts for use as a token of apology for her behaviour last night, and she ventured into the cave.

The walls of ice narrowed abruptly at the end of the cavern, though they formed a vast crawlspace that would easily accommodate the body of a full-grown woman and then some. Crouching, Lydia peered into the darkness, but could distinguish nothing. Before she could call out, a light appeared.

"Isn't magic useful?" Vigdis asked rhetorically and rather snappishly, the Candlelight illuminating her face. But her face wasn't all that the Candlelight revealed to Lydia; the body of a giant wolf, most likely the Alpha of the group outside, lay next to Vigdis. Purple light radiated from the palms of Vigdis' hands, and then transferred to the beast's body. A _pop_, so low that Lydia felt it rather than heard it, hummed in the air between them.

She couldn't hide her look of disgust. "What are you doing to it?"

"An experiment." Vigdis either didn't notice her wife's disgust or didn't care. "I find it fascinating that Soul Trap takes advantage of the moment of death to pull one's soul from the confines of a body and restrict it in a vastly smaller container – and yet, if used after death, it pulls at the soul, but meets resistance. Why does the soul still inhabit the body after death? Is death not a release, but just the trigger of a greater process? Does it take time for the soul to recognize that its host has ceased to function?" The blonde cast the spell again.

"I can feel its soul; it's still present. I can pull and release… pull and release… but nothing happens. _Fascinating_," she repeated.

Lydia smiled indulgently. "My darling Vigdis, you are loopier than a skooma addict, but I love you."

Vigdis blinked. "I love you, too." Her eyes said, _What's your point?_

"Know that I have your best interests at heart when I tell you that you need your sleep."

"I disagree." Vigdis clutched the scruff of the dead wolf like a child might grip a doll.

Lydia sighed. "Do you remember when Sam Guevenne challenged you to a drinking contest to win a staff, but I advised you not to do it? Do you remember what happened?"

"I got the staff!"

"You also almost ended up married to a hagraven." Lydia gave her a stern look. "That's the kind of thing that happens when you ignore my advice."

The mage frowned. "But I seem to remember that you were drunk, as well… And the only reason I didn't go through with my nuptials was on account of you throwing a jealous fit and professing your love for me on bended knee. If that night hadn't happened, we wouldn't be married now."

The pause seemed to stretch on forever. "… Regardless, you should listen to me."

Vigdis smiled. "Oh, alright."

After she had crawled out into the larger chamber, Lydia helped her to her feet. Vigdis stayed standing under her own power for all of three seconds before she swooned into her wife's arms.

"I feel faint…" She put a hand to her brow. "Could you carry me?"

It was done with a sigh, but Vigdis was lifted, nonetheless. "I am sworn to –"

"– Carry your burdens." The mockery was garbled by a yawn. "I know, I know…"

And she drifted off to sleep in her grumpy housecarl's arms.


End file.
